


Pride

by cordkitty



Series: One Shots and Prompts and Stuff for Lokil Lavellan [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Contemplation, F/M, Fluff, Lavellan looking for inspiration, and finding it right in front of her, solas' beauty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 16:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10364601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordkitty/pseuds/cordkitty
Summary: Short piece that attempts to understand what it is about Solas that is so captivating.





	

Evening is falling, the air around them finally cooling. It's the first time she can breathe freely today; the heat was so stifling there didn't seem to be any air left in her lungs to vitalize her. The culprit is sinking down behind the mountains slowly, heavily, leaving streaks of gold against the pink backdrop of sunset, as night's soothing darkness follows suit.

Down below, they are sat next to each other in silence. She is leaning against the wood panelled wall behind her, drabbling in her book absentmindedly. She has been trying hard to move as little as possible all day, but now that the summer night's chill settles around them and its sweet smells are drifting in through the open windows, she is becoming more aware of her surroundings again. She has been searching her own sluggish mind for inspiration all day, not realizing that the something more beautiful than she could ever dream up herself is right in front of her. She looks up, and her eyes find Solas, who is still lost in his book.

He sits leaning against the window behind him, one leg up on the window bench, the other on the wooden floor; one hand holds his book, the other arm is casually resting on his bent knee. There's an effortless elegance about him and the way he's absorbed in the pages before him. In an attempt to understand what it is about him that strikes her so, she closes her eyes and leans her head back, trying to recall those moments when his beauty made her mind still in wonder.

When she thinks his name, an image of subtle, intricate beauty presents itself to her almost immediately as if of its own volition: A tall, proud man, his eyes closed lightly and his posture effortlessly dignified. She can see something calmly imperious and magisterial in the way he holds himself - his head high, his shoulders broad and strong; his profile is a proud one, she has hardly ever seen him slouching even slightly. He never needs to rely on grand, impressive words to make himself present. There is something tranquil in his expression - serious and silent, observing; his long and slender ears pricked ever so slightly, but something makes her think that noise isn't what he's listening for. Instead, his focus is directed inward, and behind his closed eyes there seems to be a wordless world, populated with philosophical joys, feeling, sensing, knowing. He seems unperturbed in his solitude, even when he's not alone. He is withdrawn into his head, almost absent, and yet so focused - a mind that leaves behind the profanities of this world easily. His heart seems somewhere else entirely, and at the same time, it is right there, edged onto his brow plain to see for anyone who looks closely enough. But it only shows an infinitesimal excerpt, a glimpse of a mind that looks at the world around it with poetic longing. Not many are ever privy to the life behind his softly closed eyes, and she wonders if she might ever be allowed. Silent contemplation seems a natural state of being for him, and she wonders dimly how a mind like that is born. Beneath the layers of unassuming elegance and silent strength, there is a wistfulness that sometimes lurks around the corners of his eyes.

She celebrates his beauty with a quiet smile, giving up on the idea of sketching him and trying to capture something as free and untamed in something so mundane as a pencil drawing. She sees an effortless dignity in the way he holds himself. Pride - which means so little to most, as it's often mistaken for arrogance, and which so precious few strive for in themselves; to him it comes easily, inherent to his nature, to the beauty of his mind and his body.

She's watching him now, contemplating all the aspects of his beauty, when he speaks, without looking up from his book.

"If you keep staring at me like that, I will have to read the same sentence a third time. I can hardly focus. I'm intrigued to find out what it is you find so captivating."

She doesn't answer him immediately, as she looks back down at her own book, smiling.

"Many things."


End file.
